


Orcish Wooing

by TheMusicalHermit



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Marriage, Wedding Night, Wooing, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 05:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMusicalHermit/pseuds/TheMusicalHermit
Summary: Thurok was the youngest orc ever to become chief of his clan, defeating the old chieftain in single combat the same day as his coming of age ceremony. He was a terror on the field, a stalwart defender who came to be called The Stoic by his followers, for neither the most beautiful orc nor the most splendidly crafted axe would turn his expression to anything other than dim approval. Then, one day, he met Enya and something happened that had never happened before - Thurok blushed.





	Orcish Wooing

Thurok was the youngest orc ever to become chief of his clan, defeating the old chieftain in single combat the same day as his coming of age ceremony. He was a terror on the field, a stalwart defender who came to be called The Stoic by his followers, for neither the most beautiful orc nor the most splendidly crafted axe would turn his expression to anything other than dim approval. Then, one day, he met Enya and something happened that had never happened before - Thurok blushed.

 

Now, as he was known as Thurok the Stoic, one would assume that this blush was a small one. Perhaps one would think it a moderate flushing of the cheeks at most. In truth, to take such a thought to heart would be folly for this blush was best described as luminous. Yet this was not the only thing that could be described as luminous during that fated first meeting between Thurok and Enya. No, for in addition to his blush his seemingly uncontrollable smile as he rode off from the first negotiations between his clan and the neighbouring human settlement.

 

At some point during said negotiations Thurok had fallen for Enya, the bespectacled daughter of the town’s baron who had acted as translator, she having learnt Orcish after countless hours of reading through her much loved tomes. After several weeks of dealing with the petite, curvy woman Thurok had come to love everything about her and could spend hours in confidence with his second waxing poetic about how her hair outshone the beauty of fertile earth and her eyes shone brighter than tiger’s eye gemstones.

 

Suffice to say that when the peace was finalised Thurok had decided to court the lady. In fact, he had even made it a condition of the peace that he be permitted to try and win the hand of the one person to break through his stoicism.

 

This was agreed to with a smile from the lady in question, and thus began their courtship.

 

Thurok had no idea what to do at first. How did humans court? According to the lays, tales, and epics that Enya would translate for him it seemed that humans did silly things such as sing songs, read poetry, and exchange flowers or handkerchiefs. Thurok found this interesting but ultimately something he could, and should, outdo. For all those courtly stories were about human warriors and their lady loves, and he had defeated enough of these warriors to know that their ways were too soft to be worthy of a lady such as Enya.

 

There were, of course, the stories where the warrior went off to slay a dragon, but Thurok had already killed several dragons and presented their hordes to the baron and his family to win the man’s goodwill. Thurok would never admit it after the fact, but he stammered when presenting Enya with a jewellery set from one of the hordes.

 

Enya, for her part, had been ever gracious and accepted the gift with a smile that seemed to fill her eyes with starlight and set his heart racing.

 

So, lacking in any dragons to fight, Thurok did the next best thing. He decided to romance Enya the proper way. The Orcish way.

 

It took him a month to gather enough furs and skins for the first gift. The final amount filled a train of three wagons. Each wagon was filled to the brim with multicoloured furs and hides, and each pelt was more beautiful and rare than the last.

 

“My lady,” Thurok said, standing tall to better display the hunting tools he had used in his quest, “please accept these gifts as a testimony to your beauty and a sign of my ability.”

 

Well, that was what he wanted to have said. What happened instead was Thurok locked eyes with Enya and promptly forgot all that he had planned to say. Enya stood as tall as she could, coming to eye level with the top of Thurok’s abs, and held his gaze. Then she, in a move that endeared her to Thurok tenfold, covered up for his newfound speechlessness.

 

“Your skill in the hunt is remarkable,” she said. She smiled - it was one of those smiles that never failed to make Thurok smile in return. “I accept your gifts as a sign that you are worthy.”

 

Thurok could not keep from blushing as he nodded and waved the wagons into her father’s keep.

 

Next came the feat of strength. Thurok chose the tallest, thickest tree in the forest, again wanting to prove that he respected (she whom he hoped would be) his woman. As was the custom, Enya and her family chose the proving ground. Thurok laboured long and hard to drag the log to that field by the sea under the watchful eye of his second, who attested to the fact that the young chief had felled the tree and transported it to the location all by himself.

 

Thurok practiced what he would say the entire time, thinking of Enya and her smile and how she made him feel like iron ready to be moulded into something new.

 

“My lady,” Thurok said, his bare chest and rippling muscles gleaming with sweat from his endeavours, “look upon this gift and see that which I have done in your name.”

 

Enya’s eyes darted over his body, looking shocked. Thurok’s heart clenched in fear - was she displeased somehow? Then Enya seemed to shake herself and withdrew her fan to flap it at her ruddy cheeks.

 

She cleared her throat before replying. “Your incredibly worthy feat of strength is noted. And much appreciated.”

 

He feigned wiping his face with the embroidered scrap of cloth she’d given him during their second meeting to hide his traitorous facial muscles. But it was too late - she’d seen the start of his grin and smiled all the more beautifully for it. His second joked on the way back that he may need to look into finding a new epithet if Enya agreed to marry him. Thurok responded to this jibe with a reaffirmation of his stoicism, noting that there was nothing shameful about a man in love.

 

The third and final feat was one of valour. For this Thurok conferred with Enya’s father and worked to rid both their lands of bandits, thieves, and rogue mercenary bands. Each time he went off he came back with a trophy, and each time he came back he laid the trophy at Enya’s feet until the lady had an armoury to match her library. Finally there were no more brigands left to face, and Thurok stood before Enya and her father with a heart that pounded so loudly that Thurok was almost unable to hear the old man say that Enya had agreed to the proposal.

 

The marriage ceremony took place that same day, the feast lasting late into the evening. Yet, despite all the opportunities to do so, Thurok had yet to kiss his new bride by the time they took their leave from her home and returned to his. This was not because he did not want to. Like any newlywed he wanted very much to kiss his spouse. The problem was that he was too nervous.

 

His wife was precious. He was nervous about how badly he wanted to kiss her, nervous about how delicate she seemed, and nervous about whether he’d hurt her with his tusks or with his strength. So he ended up doing nothing but watch her.

 

She was so small, so cute. Her curves, her petite stature, how her face was framed by her spectacles, how her hair fell over those shining eyes... It was all so... so lovely. Her hand was small and delicate in his large, scarred grip. Like a little bird, really, and possibly just as fragile. It was almost too strange. All his life Thurok had known only war, winning precious spoils on a daily basis, and now he had the most precious thing he’d ever won. A wife, soft and delicate and so stunning that he could hardly keep his eyes off her much shorter, curvaceous form. A wife won not through warmongering, but through peacemaking.

 

As the clan threw it’s own ceremony with all the customary war games and power displays to greet their chief’s new wife, he sipped his grog and eyed the small human woman in barely concealed wonder.

 

Enya, revelling traditions she had only read about, was aware of the orc chief’s gaze. Her husband’s gaze. The very thought made her quiver. How badly she wanted him to kiss her like she’d always imagined he would - strong and fiery. A kiss that would plunder her very being like he had her heart all those months ago.

 

And yet nothing happened. Not even at the ceremony before her parents. Thurok had blushed and frozen at the sight of her in her wedding dress, and then again before the priest where he managed to say his vows. When asked to kiss her, he had faltered and turned to peck her cheek instead.

 

Her dress was beautiful. Her hair was beautiful. Her makeup, veil, everything. It was all beautiful. She looked, as her mother had said before the human ceremony, like the beautiful, delicate flower she was. Enya did not feel all that delicate. She knew what she could take. She could take what her new husband could give. Or, rather, she thought that she could take what her new husband could give.

 

A sudden inkling of doubt shot through her as an orc, displaying his strength for his new chieftainess, chopped a log as thick as her leg in half with a single stroke. Thurok was stronger than all these orcs, and had demonstrated as much during their courtship. What if he hurt her while making love? What if the pleasure she’d envisioned for so long was nothing but a dream Because what if his member was as thick as his muscles?

 

... Okay, so that did not make her clench in fear. Instead it made her press her thighs together and attempt to hide how her gaze flicked towards her husband’s crotch. The tunic he’d worn to the ceremony earlier in the day hid much. Too much, in her opinion. No matter. She’d seen enough in the past to know that he had quite a sizeable sword.

 

Enya flicked her gaze up to Thurok’s only to find him looking at her. They both blushed and looked away, unaware that the other had been looking at their body with longing.

 

The party went on until the large keg and long feast bench across the hall from the high table were emptied. Enya, already full on food and drink from the feast with her parents started yawning and shaking her head with the effort of staying awake.

 

Then Thurok stood, saying, “Friends, we have feasted and drunk tonight in honour of my marriage” - He paused for a resounding cheer. - “to our lady Enya.” The tent erupted into further cheers, and those who had mugs of grog still lifted them to her with a smile. “But, my friends, I and my wife have had a long day. I wish to retire to my, uh, my,” he continued, his previously strong voice failing and stuttering when he locked eyes with Enya. He finished badly, voice but a whisper with “My marriage bed.”

 

Enya’s heart went out to him for his fumble, but even with him by her side she was too nervous to try and smooth things over. So she only stood and placed her hand on his arm in support. Thurok’s muscles tightened under her touch but he did not pull away.

 

Oh, shit, everyone was looking at her now. Enya flushed, wanting to escape the attention.

 

Fortunately Thoruk’s second came to their aide; rising from their seat of honour they bid the newlyweds goodnight and proceeded to all but push them out of the hall. With a firm nod and salute to them both, they then turned back inside. The order to begin clearing out was cut off by the thick doors closing again.

 

For a moment Thurok and Enya just stared at the door. Then they both looked expectantly at the other before breaking into nervous laughter.

 

“So, uh,” said Enya, “which way to your, er, our chambers?”

 

Thurok started. His answer, though, was short and (if not for his tone) could have been mistaken for an order. “This way.” And then he turned and marched down the corridor at a pace that had Enya’s legs straining to keep up.

 

Enya’s mind was abuzz with possibilities, each one both thrilling and frightening in equal measure. How was this going to be? Would it live up to her (so far thwarted) expectations? Or would it be a disappointment? She both hoped and still believed the former was the case, because if Thurok were not interested in her then he would never have looked at her the way he does. Nor would he have given her all those chaste touches he had during the negotiations, nor asked for permission to court her, nor done anything that he had to prove that he was her best potential (now realised) husband.

 

Said husband paused before ornately carved, heavy wooden doors with gleaming bronze handles. He rubbed at his chin as he turned to face her. “This is,” he began, pausing to clear his throat. “Well, this is it.”

 

Oh shit. This was it. Enya hummed in agreement, tangling her hands together before her chest. “So...?”

 

“Oh right,” was the young chief’s sudden response as he turned to throw the door open. “A-after you.”

 

Her heart was racing as she entered the darker room, lit by a single brazier of embers and smelling faintly of smoke and incense. Bone charms of fortune, the hunt, and war hung from the rafters and propped up here and there were various furs, armour sets, and axes. Two small carved chairs were set around the brazier, and above them on a small raised dais was a large, comfy-looking bed covered with a woven blanket.

 

The door closing behind her made Enya jump. Turning, she found Thurok looking equally nervous as their eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room. After a moment, he raised his hand as lightly, if shakily, traced large calloused fingers over her cheek.

 

“You are beautiful,” Thurok murmured, tilting his head and curving his shoulders as if it would reduce his size. “But tiny.”

 

Enya laughed despite herself. “And you’re handsome but gigantic.” Her mirth quieted and her jaw cracked with a yawn. It had been a very long day. “So, um...” She steeled herself and squeaked out “Shall we to bed?”

 

“Bed?” Thurok’s voice cracked and he snatched his hand away to go pour them each a goblet of brandy. “No, you can go to bed. I think I’ll... I’ll sit up and take part in the... ancient tradition of... guarding the bride through the night.”

 

“That’s not a tradition,” Enya replied, crawling (rather ungainly) up to sit the bed. Looking over she found Thurok staring at her again, holding the goblets and appearing shocked. “Don’t forget you told me all about the various Orcish traditions —” Her husband placed her goblet in her outstretched hand and sat beside her. “— when I asked how accurate my books on the subject were.”

 

Thurok just looked aside and drank from his goblet, but Enya could see a sudden darker hue to his emerald cheeks even in the gloom. Knowing he was nervous made her marginally less so, but she still felt hesitant to make the first obvious move. Instead she put her hand on his knee and did her best to ignore how his thick thigh dwarfed her soft hand. Thurok jumped slightly and turned, eyes flicking over her in question.

 

“Thurok,” she said, taking a tentative sip of her burning brandy, “are you unhappy with me? Did I do something wrong at the ceremony?”

 

His fingers tightened around the goblet to the point that they shook. “No. I’m incredibly happy with you,” he said. “You have been nothing but perfect.”

 

“Then...” Enya bit her lip and felt her brow furrow as she searched his eyes. “Are you not interested in me in... that way? Am I just another trophy?”

 

“No,” Thurok shouted, setting his goblet aside and grabbing her hand with such suddenness her brandy sloshed onto his breeches. “No, that’s not it at all! I love you, Enya, and by my ancestors I want to show you that but you’re just so... beautiful and small and, and soft and I’m so, so... well, just look at me!”

 

Enya did. She looked over his muscle-bound body, the brown scars crisscrossing the emerald field of his exposed skin, those calloused hands she’d held so many times, the curved tusks the jutted from his jaw, his deep set blue eyes, and the intricate braids taming his thick dark mane.

 

“I see a handsome orc,” Enya said, putting down her goblet and moving to caress Thurok’s face. Her thumbs smoothed away the lines of worry on his young face and she pressed her forehead to his with a smile. “One whom I know will protect me and never, ever do me harm.”

 

Thurok blinked at her words, and then his cheeks were flushing that familiar greyish brown and a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re not afraid of what I could do to you?”

 

Oh how soft his words were, how touching his concern. Enya couldn’t help the upturn to her own lips when she said “I’d not ever be afraid of you, Thurok” and pulled him down to brush their lips together.

 

Their first real kiss was chaste. Or at least it was at first - it was the same kiss one would expect of long parted lovers. Soft and full of a longing that grew deeper the longer they embraced. Thurok’s hand came up to caress Enya’s cheek and, bit by bit, moved to thread its way through her intricate wedding hairstyle as he held her close. They parted just long enough for him to undo the pile of braids, and for Enya to undo his, and then they met again in a more passionate kiss.

 

Slowly their mouths trailed away from each other and left soft kisses along each other’s frames as ceremonial dress and robe were pulled away centimetre by centimetre. Their touches, at first tender, turned exploratory and hungry. Enya quickly found herself quivering with excitement as her husband’s rough hands caressed and slid over the expanses of her back, her rump, her thighs, and then up to her core.

 

Thurok supported himself on one elbow over her, pulling back just enough to gauge her reaction as he used her slick to ease a finger inside her. At her wince, he paused and asked, “Is this okay? Do you want to stop?”

 

“No!” Enya turned to stare up at him with hazy eyes and wet lips. “Oh, Gods, please keep going.”

 

His blush turning his skin a brownish ash, Thurok moved with hesitation to follow his wife’s request. There was no need for this hesitation - soon she was clawing at his shoulders and asking for more. This request, too, was answered with another finger slipped into her heat. Thurok bent down to kiss her deeply as he spread his fingers, stretching her and preparing her for his member.

 

“Thurok,” Enya whined, “please, please fuck me.”

 

She could feel his heart stutter against her chest, but Thurok took a moment to pull back again and look her over. Her hair was slick with sweat, her nipples peaked with desire, and her form literally quivered with her need of him. Enya smiled at the clench of his thighs clenched and the twitch of his dick between her legs. Smoothing a hand up his shoulder, she cupped his chin and drew him down into another lengthy kiss.

 

He pulled away and pulled her legs up so that her ankles rested on his shoulders. “I, uh,” he stammered, one hand wrapping around an ankle and the other pinning one of Enya’s hands to the bed with laced fingers, “I want to do it this way. Okay?”

 

Gods, yes, Enya thought. What she did, though, was smile and bend up to pull him down atop her with her free hand. The stretch in her thighs heightened the sensation of how large he was against her. She drew in a deep breath, kissed her love, and nodded. Both of them panted as he entered her, their gasps devolving into groans and sighs the further Thurok pressed into his beloved bride.

 

Oh. Oh, wow, he was big. Enya couldn’t help mewling beneath him at the wondrous sensation of being slowly stretched out. Or at the sensation of fullness, of wholeness. Or at how hot it was to be so completely covered Thurok’s muscled form. Or at the radiating warmth of her husband’s nakedness pressing along her legs and backside. Or at how much deeper her love seemed to press when he leant down to kiss her, his tusks dragging deliciously at the corners of her mouth. Or at the stretch in her thighs that heightened everything.

 

Then he started to move. A slow roll of the hips that was like a wave that Enya rose to meet as best she could. Again and again they rolled against each other, riding a sea of pleasure. The waves grew stronger and faster. Both of them were shivering and sweating as they moved, the sea turning stormy as the waves grew close to their crests.

 

Thurok’s hand tightened around her ankle as he deepened the angle, making Enya cry out in delight. Enya raked her hand over his shoulder, leaving shallow scars he would no doubt wear with pride. Thurok returned this gesture by dragging his rough hand over her chest, plucking at her breasts and tracing the softness of her stomach before pressing his thumb into the hard nub above their joining.

 

Enya gasped, her head thrown back — the first wave had broken. Thurok grunted, the sound loud enough to rumble through Enya’s writhing form, and thrust deeper with longer, firmer strokes until the second wave broke over her. Then his own wave crested and he came in short, hard spurts, filling Enya to them brim and then some. His body shook with pleasure, mirroring the quaking of his wife as he fell to crush her into the bed and smother her with a deep kiss.

 

They recovered bit by bit, gasps and pounding hearts returning to a normal level as they covered each other with languid kisses. Thurok pulled out and laid Enya straight, chuckling when she shivered at the liquid that trickled out of her. She nuzzled into his side, nearly purring in contentment as his hand traced over her belly again and again.

 

Enya grinned up at him and found him watching her with the same emotion dancing in his eyes he’d shown during their wedding feast.

 

“What are you thinking about,” she asked, pecking the underside of his chin.

 

Thurok smiled and pressed his forehead to hers. He took some time to think, and answered her in full. “What am I thinking about? I’m thinking about how happy I am, how lucky I am, how good you’ll be with our children. But most importantly —” He brushed his lips across hers. “— I’m thinking about how I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. I love you, Enya.”

 

She smiled, returning the sentiment by stopping his mouth with a kiss and rolling atop him to make love for the second time.


End file.
